Normandy Memories
by Laina Inverse
Summary: Five Shepards. Five different views of the Normandy Crash site. One ultimate feeling.
1. Isabelle 'Ice' Shepard

It had started with a message from Admiral Hackett. Considering that Isabelle "Ice" Shepard had never been on the best of terms with most of the Alliance brass beyond Captain Anderson—and Alliance personnel other than those on the old Normandy—it was understandable that she eyed it with a mix of wariness and suspicion. Still, despite her dislike of the Alliance—and she would admit freely that working for Cerberus wasn't much better, really—they hadn't ever handed her something without a damn good reason.

So, she opened it, and read. Slowly, emotions began to stir in her gut, and her hands tightened into fists on the counter, though not one whit of them were betrayed in her stance or her glacier-blue eyes.

They'd found it. The Alliance had found the Normandy's crash site. The seemingly cold-hearted Commander didn't know whether she wanted to jump for joy, or go drown herself in alcohol. Though she would never admit to it, the earthborn woman had considered the ship her home. Small, and cramped, but with a loyal crew, and nothing to want for doing, it had been _home_. Ice wasn't entirely sure about _what_ she wanted to do…

So she closed the message, and wandered in a semi-casual way up to Joker's chair in the cockpit. She leaned lightly on the back of it, her signal that she wanted to talk informally, and waited for him to finish playing with the ship's information. After a moment, the pilot leaned back, tipping head and hat until green eyes met blue, and one eyebrow quirked curiously.

"Hackett found her," Ice's voice, normally filled with sarcasm or dry humor, was subdued. "Wants to set up a memorial for her, and for me to check around the site for any clues about what happened to the missing crew…"

"Well, you know Commander, I can't set a course unless you give the co-ordinates," the pilot understood her not-really-a-question, but with nosey EDI nearby, he wasn't really able to voice a comment that might set her mind at ease. "Might wanna hurry up and go poke the star map into submission."

She gave him a light, mocking cuff on the head, lips quirking in a familiar smirk that Joker had intended to produce.

"We're already in the main system," she told him, lightly pushing off his chair "Might as well get this crap done and over with. The last thing I want to start is more crap-assignments from the Fifth Fleet. You _know_ they'd do it," Ice continued when Joker snorted in memory. "Seems like half the time all they wanted was a tame Spectre…"

The complaint masked the feelings Joker could tell she was hiding. After all, _he_ was feeling similar trepidation over seeing his old baby in pieces on the ground. Ice had _run_ that ship. If he could make the old Normandy dance, make her work, it was Ice would made _him_ dance. Metaphorically speaking, anyways.

Minutes later, the co-ordinates popped up in one small corner of his multitude of screens. He looked at them, and nodded. With his skill they could be in that cluster by ship-clock bedtime.

Ice was secretly grateful that she'd won the argument with the stubborn ship AI about going down alone. She would have taken Joker if she'd thought about it, but by the time she did, taking anyone would have been giving into the damn AI's insistence, and the commander was nothing if not stubborn. Besides which, she didn't want to share this moment with anyone. Though it was like pulling teeth to make her admit it, the Normandy had been the first place Ice had ever truly thought of as 'home.' More than anything else, the ship had been _hers._ From hull to drive, everything and everyone on it had been hers. And that had made it home…. And then some.

And then those bastard Collectors had ripped the Normandy to shreds. They had killed twenty of her people, including Presley, and then blown up the ship. Ice wouldn't have _had_ a bone to pick with them, but she sure as hell did now. _No one_ blew up her home without getting her personal vendetta against them.

Because the ship had been her home more than the planet of her birth Earth, she cut all communications channels beyond the one for emergencies. No one needed to hear her rage, swear, and perhaps even cry, as she walked around the destruction.

As Ice stepped out of the shuttle, the first thing she saw was the hull of the ship. _Normandy_ was half-buried in the white snow, scattered about a small area. Part of her was glad. Another part of her wondered what Joker would think about the mess. The rest of her raged. The rage then deepened into sorrow under the weight of memories. First seeing the _Normandy_ in dry-dock. Standing at the CIC and sending information to Joker through the star map. Kaiden's station. The sleeper pods. The damn Mako. The cockpit.

As she collected the dog-tags, lost in memory, she found Presley's data-pad. Reading it, she both smiled and snorted as tears pricked at her eyes. She tried to focus on the humor; it was better than allowing the bubbling grief and rage loose with nothing to shoot but the damn crates.

Placing the monument was the last thing she did. She put it right in the middle of all the pieces. She had to grit her teeth hard as the bronzed replica of her ship shooting out into space set in motion a flood of memories, most of them leaving port to roam the stars, _her_ stars…

Her hands clenched tightly as she turned to survey all the pieces one last time. And then she turned and walked towards the shuttle. The Collectors had a _lot_ to answer for, and Ice was going to take them to task.

…Once she had a good hard drink.

As she stepped into the shuttle, and reestablished the comm. channels the first voice over the line was EDI's.

"Communications channels are to be open at all times, Shepard," the AI scolded. "Cerberus regulations state-"

"Hang rules and regs," Ice snapped back, fraying emotional control stretching thinner. "Just because I agreed to work _with_ you doesn't mean I work _for_ you."

Either the AI was surprised into silence—unlikely—or Joker had slammed down on the mute. Either way EDI didn't say another word to Ice the entire shuttle trip up.

Joker was not-so-subtly monitoring the commander's room after her return. She had gone straight for the elevator instead of dropping by his chair as she always did, and though he would never say as much aloud, that worried him.

Judging by the way she was sitting on the edge of the bed, head bowed, hand hands folded tightly in her lap, it was safe to say that the visit had taken a large chunk out of his commander's normally tough armor. And despite not being very good at expressing emotions beyond sarcasm, biting sarcasm, and, occasionally, genuine good humor, Joker couldn't help but worry about her. They were friends. Hell, at times there were moments where they might've been more. Whoever said 'opposites attract' hadn't met Ice and Joker, hadn't seen the way they understood one another _because_ they were so similar.

Which was why Joker was worrying. Whatever Ice was feeling was hitting her hard, and he didn't like it. Half-turning away from EDI, he tipped his head lightly, accessing a private comm-line that he and Ice had set up a long time ago.

"I've got the brandy, if you've got the glasses."

Peripherally, he saw her head snap up in surprise, and had to work to keep from smirking. The brief flash of pain before annoyance covered it helped. Blue eyes narrowed in the direction of the camera.

"Spying on me again?" she snapped down the line, making him wince slightly.

"Well, if you want to sulk alone, I could let you do that," he drawled, trying to coax hr into better humor.

"Get your ass up here," was the sharp reply. "And bring the goddamn booze."

As she spoke, Ice had moved to her desk and gotten out two glasses, thumping them down and glaring back up at the camera.

"Yes ma'am."

Ice was half-sitting on her desk by the time he put the ship on auto-pilot, grabbed the brandy, and half-hobbled his way up to the commander's quarters. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her eyes snapped with the cold fires of anger and pain. The sight of the alcohol bottle eased the fire somewhat, and she unfolded long enough to proffer both glasses.

"One of those is mine, I hope," Joker said, keeping his voice deliberately light. "There's no fun n getting drunk alone."

"Not after seeing the wreck," she muttered, entirely serious. "If there was anyone else who'd need a drink after that, it'd be you."

Startled by her mood, Joker took the chair after filling and retrieving one of the glasses, setting the brandy bottle down between them. Grim reality settled over him, as he watched her down the first glass and then a second without bothering to take a breath in between.

"That bad, huh?" His voice had softened somewhat, understanding her pain. The ship had been her home as much as it had been his baby.

She slugged back another shot, then rolled the empty glass in her hands.

"Yeah," her normally vivacious voice was sad, pained. "Torn to pieces and scattered across a plain."

For a second, a bleak sort of humor crossed her face. It made the pilot wince to see it.

"Damn Mako survived though. Freaking indestructible pain in the ass that it is."

"Remember how much crap that thing got you through?" Joker had just poured himself a second glass, and smirked a little. "Those geth outposts… and the monkeys."

The reminder made Ice snort into her glass.

"Goddamn monkeys," but there was more humor than bleak sorrow or fury in her voice. "Goddamn data module getting shot down. Why the hell did Hackett send me down on some of those missions? I had better things to do than to complete their crap jobs. You'd've thought he'd have someone better than a busy Spectre to bother."

"_You'd_ think," Joker deadpanned, "but obviously they didn't."

It got a sharp grin out of her, more a baring of teeth than a genuine smile, but she lifted her glass fractionally in agreement. Though Joker would hardly say as much aloud, he preferred to see Ice smirk—or smile, but those were rarer than a Prothean beacon—than to see her depressed.

"Hey… 'Belle," he was the only person who could use her given name and get away with it. It signified not only the level of trust she had for him, but also a shift in the seriousness of the conversation. "You really think this is gonna work?"

She down the last of hat had to be her fifth glass and started in on a sixth, stopping with a third of the liquid still remaining, as she thought about her answer.

"Hate t'admit it, but Cerberus is finding me some damned good bodies," and she studied the amber liquid in her glass as she spoke. Her voice was starting to slip back towards the slang she'd grow into as a kid, though Joker knew she was far from drunk. "At least accordin t'th dossiers I'm getting. No Alliance breathin down m'back, and the best damn pilot in the whole system make m'odds look damn high." Blue eyes turned cold, and her hands tightened fractionally around the glass. "Besides, I owe those bastards for our ship. Like _hell_ I'm not going to collect!"

"Collecting from the collectors, Commander?" Joker raised an eyebrow, and got a reluctant half-smirk in return.

"Not d'liberate," she muttered, slinging back the rest of the drink. "Smartass."

Joker leaned back a little in the chair, and caught sight of a beaten and nearly broken data pad.

"What's this?"

"Used t'be Presley's," and her voice was soft again. "I found twenty dog-tags and that. Go ahead, read it."

The data was mostly damaged, but it was clear where Ice had been able to repair it. Joker read silently, briefly, and then set it down, and slugged the rest of his alcohol back.

"Yeah," Ice nodded. "S'bout how I feel."

Joker really didn't know what to say. Presley had been the most vocal of all the officers about the non-humans on board. To find out that, at the end of everything, her would be willing to take a hit for any of them?

Maybe it had something to do with Ice's personality. Rough and sharp, but strong and charismatic. And always, _always_ with a good reason for everything she came up with. Turian on board? Hell of a sniper. Quarian? Knowledgeable about the geth's creation and a top-spec hacker. Krogan? Well, someone else needed to be the firepower on the ship, didn't they?

The point was, that while Ice could be as cold as her name, and twice as bitchy, she never did anything without a damn good reason. Her crew had known this, and while it had gone unstated, her crew had respected, and hell, in some cases, had loved their commander.

And she knew that. She wasn't good at showing affection, but she tried with her sharp jokes, and dry teasing.

"I'll take my ship and my crew out of their hides," she said in a soft, dangerous voice. "Come hell, high water or-"

"You're _not_ dying on me again," he interrupted, looking up at her. "Like _hell_ you're dying on me again."

She smirked sharply, rolling one shoulder in a manner that was neither agreement nor argument. He hated it when she did that.

The decanter was almost empty; Ice had taken most of it in her attempt to calm down. Joker poured the last of the amber liquid into her cup, and watched a touch warily as she poured the last of it down her throat. Finally, there was a subtle easing of tension in her shoulders. Good. She wasn't drunk, and honestly, unlikely to be pleasantly buzzed, but she was at least letting go of the cold fury that had gripped her. If he waited quietly, he'd probably get some much less guarded conversation.

Few people understood their working relationship. They'd enter into one of the snark-filled, sharp-tongued conversations and figure them to be friendly rivals, or just-barely-friends. They certainly would never have expected Ice to open up to Joker in ways that she could not do for anyone else.

Still, their unique relationship had come into being almost from the moment they met, and had lasted through Saren's insanity, Sovereign's plans, the near destruction of the Citadel, the months of hunting geth hold-outs... and everything since her resurrection at the hands of Cerberus. They were more than commander and pilot, more than friends, even more than almost-sibs. They hovered somewhere between the final designation and lovers, but neither had been quite willing to take that last step. Ice trusted slowly, and there was his brittle bone disease to worry about as well.

Despite that, they were close. They harassed each other, pranked the ship, and, when the other needed a listening ear, informally, they talked over drinks. And Ice needed to talk. Needed, for a few moments, to be vulnerable. To use names instead of nicknames.

"S'hard Jeff," she murmured quietly. "Not scared to fight th bastards, but ain't none f'us ready for it. This ship still ain't home, an outside Gar and Tals, ain't none of em feel like they fit. Well," a sharp smile crossed her face. "'Cept Mordin."

Garrus and Tali were the only ones from the past ship who had agreed to come with her. Liara and Ashley had refused her, in no uncertain terms. And while Joker didn't really like anyone _besides_ Tali and Ice—though he did see a lot of Zaeed in his commander—he had to admit that it was disconcerting to not see familiar faces. Beside the Doc, obviously.

"I get why you didn't want to argue Ash around, 'Belle, but why didn't you try harder to grab Liara?"

She shrugged.

"They've had a couple a years t'get used to life without me. Hell, I didn't really 'spect she'd come as it is. And t'be honest, I don't want 'er. Nice t'see she grew a spine though."

"So what about this new bunch?" he asked after a minute. "You gonna make em family?"

She slid off the desk to the floor of the cabin, leaning uncharacteristically against his leg. It was a light lean, both in deference to his disease, and because physical affection was not her strong suit, but it was a lean nonetheless.

"Loyal, hells yes," she muttered. "But I don't know em, an I don't give half a damn 'bout the Cerberus pets. I ain't intendin t'do a damn thing."

"That's gonna be a small family," he began to joke.

"Yeah, an you lot 're damn kids," she scowled up at him. "But hell, small s'better. Less t'worry 'bout who can take care of their damn selves."

He was ready with a smart-ass comeback, then caught the brief flash of grief/anger/loneliness in her implant-tinted eyes. Joker wondered abruptly, what she wasn't saying to him, but outwardly shrugged and snorted in feigned annoyance.

"Maturity is overrated."

As he'd hoped, it made her snicker at his expense. After a moment she reached up and used the desk to haul herself to her feet. The expression on her face was mellow; a combination of drink, his help, and their shared sense of humor. After a moment, she leaned in lightly and bumped his forehead with her own.

"We ain't th best f'people persons, but we get on, don't we?"

Her voice was low, husky, and Joker found himself drawn to her eyes. Other than the brittle bones, he _was_ a healthy male, and when Ice was pouring on the charm and charisma, it was pretty difficult to deny her what she wanted. His retort died unsaid as he started to lift his head in response to that not-so-subtle question.

"Commander?" Kelly's voice via the personal intercoms broke the moment like a soap bubble. "I apologize for interrupting you if you're busy, but there are some urgent new messages on your terminal, and Grunt is acting... odd. I think you should go down to see him."

Ice muttered a variety of profanities in a language that didn't automatically translate. Joker presumed it was Prothean, and even though he didn't understand the words, he agreed with the sentiment.

"Fine," she growled at last. "I'm on my way. Tell th krogan that if he breaks the ship, it's his hide."

"Of course, commander."

Commander and pilot shared exasperated looks. The moment had been thoroughly lost, and they both knew that trying anything now would just be stupidly awkward.

"Raincheck?" Joker asked, levering himself out of the chair as Ice stepped back.

"Raincheck," she agreed, stepping aside so that he could hobble past. "...and... thanks."

He paused, surprised by the gratitude, then gave her a smirk over his shoulder.

"Next time, it's your booze."

She mimed punching him, a smirk crossing her face in response as the door whooshed open, and then closed behind him.

"Jackass."


	2. Delilah Shepard

Del Shepard had a longtime issue with chronic nightmares. Ever since the batarian raid on Mindoir, she had not slept peacefully, and the memory of suffocating was not one that left her dreaming easily. Most nights when she woke and flung aside her blanket, she found her way to the star map for some planet scanning.

Occasionally though, she took to spending time in a quiet place, where it was surprisingly difficult to locate her. Garrus had been her best friend on the old Normandy, and taking shelter in the main battery brought her peace. Peace of the kind that had been sorely lacking ever since she'd realized her special locket was gone.

So he wasn't surprised to walk in at the start of 'morning' on the ship-clock, and see her sitting on one of the crates in her pajamas, heavy-eyed and messy-haired. To be sure, it bothered him to see his once cheerful commander in such a state, but he still wasn't sure what he could do about it.

The data-pad in her hand was new, though, and it piqued his curiosity. She looked up at him after a minute, then handed it over. He took note of the tremor in her fingers, and decided to sit on the crate next to her. He had no desire to see her melt away into a silent panic attack.

His eyes scanned over the data-pad, wondering what was in it that had knocked her feet out from under her. When he finished, he read it again, suddenly rather glad that he was already sitting. _That_ was... definitely something that would knock anyone for a loop. Or at least, anyone who had been on the original Normandy.

"Part of me says I need to go," she said quietly, reaching up for a locket that was no longer there. "But... I think I'm a bit scared to see what's down there. Bodies? Ship pieces, certainly..."

He cautiously rested a hand on her shoulder, a little surprised and definitely worried to see so much vulnerability from his once indomitable commander. He had assumed, perhaps naively, that death had failed to phase her. Obviously, he had been wrong.

"If you want some company," he offered cautiously, "I'd be willing to go down with you. So you don't have to face... that alone."

She rested her cheek against his hand, a move that she had done once before on the old Normandy. It made him miss their old chess games. Reflex his him giving a light squeeze in hopes of comforting her.

Finally she sighed, straightening.

"I wouldn't turn it down."

"Then I'll meet you at the shuttle."

He removed his hand, and she got to her feet with a nod. She didn't need to say anything, the gratitude was there in her gray eyes.

The shuttle ride down was quietly tense. Del had her helmet in her hands, staring down at it, but clearly not seeing it. Garrus sat across from her, watching the play of emotions on her face, and in her body language. It was hard to believe that he'd once had trouble reading her. He wondered if that meant he'd gotten better, or she'd become more... open. Like... oh, what was the human phrase, an open magazine? Or was it a book?

Well, they were almost the same thing anyways. And both pretty outdated.

The apprehension was clear in the way her fingers held tightly to the helmet; her tightly controlled stillness hinted at the fear she had expressed earlier, at seeing her ship in pieces. Garrus hesitated, then reached out to lightly touch a hand. She jumped, and the helmet clattered to the floor, a sound that broke the silence and the worst of the tension.

Del chuckled sheepishly as Garrus retrieved her helmet, switching seats to sit beside her before handing it back. Nothing needed to be said; he understood. And because he did, she rested the helmet lightly on one knee, then leaned against him, slipping one hand into his. He started a little, mandibles flaring fractionally... then closed his hand around hers.

In some ways, the ride down had been more stressful than actually seeing the ship broken into pieces. Once Del had pulled on her helmet and Garrus his, they were committed to stepping out of the shuttle. The first sight of the ship's hull, the name emblazoned on the side made Del stop dead as memory assailed her.

Garrus lightly prodded her shoulder and she shook her head sharply, trying to dislodge the memories. She still had a job to do...

"Remember when you first brought Tali to the Normandy?" He asked, trying to inject a little humor. It made her startle a little, and she turned to face him. "How shocked, and thrilled she was."

Under her helmet, Delilah smiled reluctantly.

"Yeah. Between her and Joker, I learned more about the ship than I ever really expected to."

And that set up the tone of the walk. Del would see a piece of the ship—The Mako, which was still somehow in one piece, albeit frozen to the surface of Alchera. The CIC. The cockpit—but before she could be dragged down into depression, Garrus would bring up a different memory. One with humor, about this crewmember or that one, and she would find the good memories crowding out the pain.

There was only one time where they both fell silent. Presley's data-pad, somehow still intact. Reading what little could be recovered from the personal log brought pain that would not be denied. Del bowed her head, and her shoulders shivered slightly.

Thankfully, that was the very last thing they ha left to do on the frozen world. They had collected the dog tags from the twenty missing crew, the Normandy monument had been settled before the hull, and they had found, somehow intact, Del's old N7 helmet. That had surprised her more than anything else.

On the shuttle back, they leaned against each other, helmets off. Neither was really sure who was holding up whom, so beaten and tired as they were.

And yet... in a way, they were both the lighter for the visit. Their friendship had survived her death and two years of distance. And now it felt all the stronger.

"Chess later?"

"I'll bring the board."

She smiled at him. And that was enough.


	3. Sheila Shepard

AN: _I__know__that__technically,__Tali__isn't__a__fem!Shep__romance__option,__but__given__that__I've__already__given__in__to__the__Ice/Joker__shipping,__and__the__fact__that__Sheila__has__a__Giant__Cat,__I__don't__really__think__it's__going__to__kill__me__to__go__with__headcanon__as__opposed__to__game__canon.__(FWIW,__and__I__don't__know__how__it__happened,__Sheila__ended__up__romancing__Thane__in__game__canon)_

Sheila Shepard was not prone to outbursts of emotion. Or, really, any emotion at all. Especially not the sort of emotion that would send Azure, the St. Bernard sized Siamese colored ship cat scurrying from her 'mother's' room.

But then, given that this was destined to not be an ordinary day, it was more par for course. The large cat found her way down to the engineering deck, and Tali's console, twining a little anxiously around the quarian before hiding under the metal stand.

Tali had been in the middle of some personal log time; detailing everything that had happened during her brief trip to the Flotilla, the Alarei, and the conflicted feelings she now had for Shepard. Though her commander did not _speak_, per se, being mute as she was once more, the synthesized shouting had been more than enough to get her point across. And it had made her feel all... tingly inside. Sheila, getting passionate about her?

Azure seemed to understand that claws were not something used on Tali's suit, but she still lightly pawed anxiously at the quarian woman's leg, clearly aiming for her attention.

"In a moment Azure," Tali said gently. "I'm almost... there."

She saved the log and closed it down, turning off her omnitool in one motion before crouching slightly to be at the feline's level. The cat had always intrigued her, to the point where Tali had voluntarily designed a mass effect shield so that Azure could be on the battlefield with Sheila, as opposed to either sulking for hours if left on the ship, or staying so close to Shepard as to be stepped on. Both Sheila and Azure had appreciated it, though Sheila had surprised Tali by smiling at her.

"You're agitated today, aren't you?" Tali murmured, rubbing the large cat's ears. The rumbling purr was felt all the way over at Ken and Gabby's stations, and the two humans exchanged amused glances. "Maybe I should talk to Sheila... I hope you're not sick."

Azure settled under the console, and started washing. Tali chuckled, taking this as a dismissal, and went to find Sheila.

It was rare for Sheila's door to be locked. Though not the friendliest of people, she had never actively closed people out before. At least, not that Tali had ever seen. It made the quarian worry a little; _something_ had driven Azure out of this room, and Sheila was so stoic as to be unpredictable at times.

Like that hug on the Alarei when... Tali shook her head and tapped politely on the door. A minute passed, then two, then five. She knocked again. Finally, the lock cycled off, and Tali was abel to poke her head through. And ducked quickly as a data-pad was thrown in her direction.

"Shepard, what-" Tali stopped in shock at the destruction of the room.

Sheila, flushed and panting, had a hand braced against her fish tank, which had a few cracks in the outer part of the glass. The other was still stretched out in her smooth throwing motion. Anything that could be overturned or pulled apart was, save for the models hanging near her personal terminal, and the space hamster cage near the bathroom. Pieces of armor and clothing were scattered across the floor, and a few more data pads as well. Some of the things looked to have been thrown by Sheila's biotic abilities, something that made Tali wince internally; they were likely to nee replacing.

"Keelah," Tali breathed, eyes wide behind her faceplate. "Shepard, what is _wrong?_"

Because it had to be something _big_ to make the normally contained human woman tear her own room apart. Even on the first Normandy, when chasing Saren, she had never had this sort of reaction to anything!

Sheila just pointed at the data pad she'd thrown, ripples of her purple-blue biotic tracing over her arms and the golden skin of her hands. Tali picked up the pad carefully, retrieved Sheila's desk chair, and sat. After reading a few lines of the message was glad she had, and Sheila's fit made more sense.

Hackett had found the Normandy's crash site. And forwarded it to Shepard. And Sheila, conflicted and angry, had tried to vent her emotions in as safe a way as possible. Tali shook her head seeing the minute cracks in the data pad. No, this was not good news at all.

"Shepard?"

Sheila paused as she ran her hands through her dark brown hair, glancing up at Tali. Her large blue eyes reflected a variety of emotions, many passing too quickly for the quarian woman to catch, but finally settling back into iron control.

"Shepard, I want to come too. Old or new, the Normandy was partly my home as well," Tali saw she had surprised her commander, and smiled a little under her helmet. "It doesn't have to be something you face by yourself."

Sheila absorbed the words, turned them over in her mind, then finally nodded once. Her fingers danced over her omnitool, inputting her response. Tali, like most of her crew, wasn't fluent in sign language, and now that Mordin had given her a voice without a voice—she had to admit, it was different to actually sound like herself—it was just faster to type it out. She had become a whiz at speed-typing with her omnitool.

"The room needs to be put to right again," the synthesized voice of the commander replied. "You can go give Joker the co-ordinates."

It wasn't an order, not really. But Sheila wasn't really a person who did a lot of asking for help. So, instead of going to give Joker the co-ordinates via the star map, Tali stuck around and helped Sheila clean up the loft. She enjoyed the subtle chance to go through all of Sheila's things. Like the pieces of armor she had stored in the locker, the articles of clothes—most of them Cerberus, because Sheila just didn't _care_ about clothing (Tali made a mental note to get her some things that weren't in Cerberus colors, caring or not)—that went into the drawers, the little knick-knacks that Sheila occasionally picked up on side-missions, and the data pads filled with every little bit of data on the Collectors that the commander could get her hands on.

The fact that Sheila didn't try to point her to the door said a lot about the level of trust they shared. And maybe a little more.

"We're lucky you don't have any fish, Shepard," Tali teased. "You'd actually have to fix the tank then."

"Azure would eat them," she responded, flicking a glance at the quarian. "She only ignores Boo because he's not even a mouthful."

"You named the space hamster Boo?"

Sheila's body-language became somewhat defensive.

"It suits him," she replied. "That's what he does, comes out and says 'boo' when you tap the tank. Try it."

Curious, Tali did. And she found that Sheila was right, the hamster _did_ sound like he was saying boo! It made her laugh, which raised a faint, almost missed smile onto Sheila's face. Tali started just a little; it was extremely rare to see Sheila smile for any reason.

Then again, Sheila had hugged her in her moment of grief on the Alarei, so maybe there was more to the golden-skinned woman than she had originally suspected.

"Speaking of Azure, should we bring her?"

Sheila shook her head.

"She wouldn't understand, and I don't want her to see... that sort of state."

Unsaid but clear as day was the fact that she didn't want Tali to see her like that either. It wasn't going to deter the quarian any, but it was fairly obvious to someone who'd been crew for Sheila as long as Tali. But Sheila had been there for Tali, and she was most _definitely_ going to return the favor.

The Alchera winds were chilled, pressing hard against envirosuit and armor plating alike as the two women exited the shuttle. Snow and ice were kicked up by the breeze, briefly obscuring the pieces of the ship. In a way, the anticipation made it worse. At least, that was Tali's opinion. Neither of them really _wanted_ to see their old home away from home in pieces, but it was always better to know than to not.

Sheila, strong, silent, impossible to fully understand Sheila, took two steps and then her legs nearly gave out when the Normandy's hull came into sight. Tali was glad for her quick reflexes, but the slender human woman was heavier than she looked, and all the quarian could really do was ease her down to the snow gently. For a few moments the human commander wanted her voice back, so that she could _scream_ out all her rage, all her pain, every emotion that seeing the ship, _her_ ship, in pieces brought up.

Tali was a little shaken herself, and didn't really know how to help Sheila. What could she say or do to keep what must be long-withheld emotions from overwhelming the older woman and causing her to lash out again?

In the end they just knelt in the snow together, Tali's arm around the stiff shoulders of the... of _her_ commander, trying to give the same comfort she had received on the Alarei. Maybe it wasn't for the exact same thing, but the feeling of loss was at least somewhat the same, if... much more magnified.

After what felt like hours but—according to Tali's envirosuit clock, anyways—was only ten minutes, Sheila slowly managed to get up. Her biotics flickered and flared and Tali cautiously got up as well, uncertainly watching the commander. She hadn't seen Sheila use her biotics in times of emotional distress... Then again, Sheila had never really shown many _signs_ of emotional distress before. The commander had iron control, and Tali found herself wondering if that control had been... altered somehow. Weakened, just a little by the trauma of dying and being brought back to life.

Or maybe Cerberus had found a way to make her just slightly more unstable.

Either way, as Tali helped Sheila to her feet, the commander's hands flicked Little silver dog tags exploded out of the snow and flew towards Sheila, who checked names against her hardsuit's roster. She didn't get all of them in one shot, but she kept up the biotic summoning as they walked the frozen ground. The less time she spent on the ice planet, the better, because if she was there much longer, a full breakdown was far too likely.

Tali caught her old N7 helmet before it could impact, and Pressley's personal-log too. Sheila barely even noticed.

The monument was place before the Mako, which was undamaged, but frozen solid to the ground. No amount of biotic pummeling would break it free, and the actions had clearly tired Sheila. Tali supported her friend as best she could as the last few tags were found and checked off the list.

The shuttle ride back up was silent. Tali could feel the tension that still vibrated through her commander, though it seemed to be lessening as they got farther from the planet. Sheila's helmet still obscured her face, but the faintest of trembles suggested that she might well be crying silently.

Tali searched for something to say, anything to break the oppressive silence, eventually settling on a quarian prayer for the departed. She felt more then saw Sheila take interest in the prayer, and the last of the tension slipped away, leaving the human leaning almost... companionably against the quarian.

When the shuttle docked, Sheila sighed and got to her feet. Before Tali could get up as well, Sheila extended a hand to help her, surprising the quarian. It was taken after a minute, and then Sheila surprised Tali even more by lifting it up after the quarian had stood and bowing her head until her helmet touched the back of Tali's hand.

It was more than just a thanks, it was a very profound gesture. For Sheila, 'thanks' was usually a nod of the head or a wave of the hand. This... this was respect, gratitude and... and possibly something that Tali had never thought to consider before. Sure she knew that Sheila liked some of the crew—or perhaps the right term would be 'was curious about'—but this went beyond like. Beyond crew.

It would take some thinking about. _A__lot_ of thinking about.

The gesture lasted only a few moment, before Sheila released her grip, straightened her shoulders, and walked out of the shuttle, pulling her helmet off as she went. It was a facade of strength which wouldn't last, but it just needed to hold up until the commander reached her room and the large feline within.

Tali looked down at her hand, then slowly brought it to her chest. It was a thing she'd never considered before... but now, she found she wanted to. It was time, now, to do a little extranet research.


	4. Leah Shepard

Illium was a bright place, Leah decided, shielding her eyes. Trying to blot out the darkness of the fact that many illegal drugs were legal with a contract and a waiver, and that if a person fell off the grid—Garrus' own words—it was no safer than Omega.

She was there on shore leave for the day, looking to talk with Liara about one thing in particular. Not, as many would assume, their complicated relationship, nor about the details of working with Cerberus. That was what extranet mail was for, and had been used for several times already. Liara always sent back something that cheered the ebony-haired commander up.

It was unusual to see Leah Shepard out of her hardsuit. The armor and guns she wore bulked her up, made her look far bigger than she actually was. Shepard appeared a slender woman, the kind who would snap in half if someone tried, though the truth was far different. Dying had changed something in her... added a hardness, a sort of...anger that occasionally prompted her to do things she wouldn't normally do. She herself still wasn't sure she like the change, and occasionally wondered if Cerberus had done something to her after all.

Being that it was shore leave—she'd insisted that everyone who could be spared take the day off so as to prevent boredom—she was not in her armor, nor did she have most of her weapons. Instead she was dressed in what would have been dress blues had they not been in Cerberus colors, with her pistol strapped to one hip. She was casual, but decidedly not stupid.

She made her way through the trading floor up past the empty desk of the late Nyxeris—whom Liara had yet to replace—and paused as the door whooshed open, to make sure that she was not going to interrupt another 'asari commando mind-flaying' conversation.

Liara was sitting at her desk, but she didn't actually seem to be doing anything. There was an orange data pad held loosely in one hand, but she was turned away from it, staring out over the expansive view of the asari-created city. Leah cleared her throat lightly, and ducked as the data pad sailed her way in reflex.

"Shepard!" Liara places a hand to her chest. "You startled me..."

"I noticed," Leah's voice was tinged with rueful amusement as she picked up the data pad and brought it over to her one-time lover. "I didn't mean to... Are you all right? You looked kind of... distracted."

"I was..." Liara admitted quietly. "I was thinking about an old friend of mine... and worrying."

"The same old friend who helped you... retrieve my remains from the Shadow Broker?"

Leah's lavender eyes were sympathetic, and Liara nodded as she accepted the pad. Almost, Leah changed her reason for being there. She had an in, a way to the Shadow Broker for Liara, from The Illusive Man...

But it didn't seem right to focus on that when there were still colonists to rescue and the Collectors to defeat. Not that her original reason for coming was any less selfish, but she just could say anything to anyone else. Not even Garrus or Tali.

"Anyways, is there something I can do for you, Shepard?"

"Do you have time to spare?" Leah asked cautiously. "I... I would like to talk to you about something important."

Liara sighed.

"Shepard-"

"Not that," Leah couldn't help but grump, just a little. She already knew that trying to talk about their relationship was a bad idea. "It's... something else. Maybe it's not very important, but I just need to... to talk. To you."

Liara was quiet for a long time, fingering the data-pad idly. Finally, she nodded.

"Not here though. Come with me."

Leah followed willingly enough, grateful that she could at least get a few moments to speak to her old flame as a friend, at the least.

The asari led her down to the cab station, where she called up her personal vehicle, and climbe in, Leah following cautiously. They drove in silence, with Liara taking some seemingly random turns in the speeding traffic. These turns eventually deposited them at a somewhat rundown looking building, where she parked the car, and then made her way to a small, unobtrusive door.

Leah followed, and was surprised to see what appeared to be an old-fashioned, Japanese style bar. There were booths that looked decidedly soundproof, a long bar where two asari bartenders nodded to the pair, and very few other people.

It was not a place Leah expected to associate with Liara. And yet the human woman found herself admitting that it worked well. Everyone needed a bolt hole.

They sat at a booth, and within a few moments, two drinks arrived. They were identical in every where, and a brilliant shade of lime green. Leah couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

"I don't come here often," Liara told her quietly. "This is a place where I am mostly sure I am not recorded, and can sit quietly with my thoughts. It seemed... appropriate, all things considered."

Leah cautiously sipped the beverage, and found herself liking the taste. It was pleasantly fruity, with a hint of honey to it. Liara smiled a little to see her surprise.

"What is bothering you, Leah? Have you been having... more nightmares?"

Leah's eyebrows went up, surprised that Liara would remember that detail.

"Nightmares, yes," she shook her head lightly, "but given that my life seems to have been one rather long one, interspersed with the occasional good moment, that's not really something I'm going to complain about any time soon. No... this is..."

Leah sighed, and ran her hand through her chin length black hair.

"You've probably seen it, haven't you?" she asked abruptly, looking up to meet Liara's blue eyes. "The Normandy's crash site, I mean. On Alchera."

Liara blinked in surprise, and a touch of suspicion filtered into Leah's mind.

"I... no, I never did. I retrieved your remains from the Broker's temporary base. You... you have?"

Leah nodded, and made herself let go of the uncertain feeling. No, Liara had no reason to lie to her, and their friendship was reason enough to trust. She looked down at the grain of the table instead, tracing a pattern with her eyes.

"Admiral Hackett found Alchera, and told me that the families of the twenty crew members who died there wanted to know if they were just MIA or actually KIA. Closure. And he asked me to put up a monument."

"Leah..."

Liara reached across the table in an almost reflexive move to try and tip Leah's head up. Her hand stalled halfway there, then drew back, leaving the commander feeling more alone than ever.

"You saw the old ship then," Liara prompted gently after a minute. "In pieces?"

"Scattered all over the snow," she replied quietly, sadly. "The CIC, the sleeper pods..." A touch of humor lightened her face. "The Mako."

Liara had to stifle a shudder. She had never enjoyed being in the mobile tank, and Leah had always preferred to man the gun, leaving the driving up to whoever the third member of the ground team was. Very rarely had those been good trips for the asari.

"Other than being frozen to the ground, the Mako was in one piece," Leah shook her head lightly. "Maybe if I could've made it to that..."

"You did a great thing in rescuing your pilot."

"I know. And he knows. He's a bit less of a jackass at me these days. A small bit."

Liara had to chuckle. She knew that Leah appreciated her pilot's skills, but had to agree that sometimes Joker's attitude could be a bit... abrasive. To put it kindly.

"I found Pressly's personal log," Leah continued after a few moment. "While I'm glad I never had a real reason to test his loyalty, it was... nice to know that he would have taken a shot for anyone on board, human or alien."

"Did any of it bring you a sense of closure?"

"...no. It made me... mad," came the quiet admittance. "It hurts like hell to know that these people died just because the Collectors wanted to get rid of me, and then the pain turns into anger and..."

Leah took a deep breath, and had to push herself towards calm again. Her hands had started to glow, very faintly, with her biotics. This time, Liara did not hesitate in covering the human woman's tightly clenched fists.

"You are Commander Leah Shepard, savior of the Citadel," Liara said in quietly earnest. "You defeated a Reaper that threatened to bring his whole race through the Citadel Relay. You will get the Collectors too. I know it."

Leah's tense shoulders eased somewhat, and she even managed a flicker of a smile.

"And then maybe we can have a long talk on what may or may not happen in the future?"

Liara hesitated, then nodded after a moment.

"We can try, at least. I... you know I am..."

"I know you're looking for revenge. I..." Leah sighed, her conscience finally winning out over her need to get the whole thing off her chest. "Liara, if I told you I had a way for you to get to the Shadow Broker, no tricks, lies, or traps, what would you think?"


	5. Tabitha 'Tabby' Shepard

_Dear Mom,_

_Hey Mom,_

_Mother it's me,_

_Dear Mother,_

"This really shouldn't be so damn hard," Tabitha 'Tabby' Shepard grumbled as she hit the delete key again. "Past crap relationship aside..."

It was annoying, and yet at the same time kind of funny. In the months since her resurrection by Cerberus, this was the first time she'd felt compelled to write to her mother, and it was all about the ship that had been destroyed. The Normandy SR-1.

Tabby had thought about it many times, but then, as now, when she had sat down to try and write even a simple note, the very beginning had stymied her. Her cat-green eyes narrowed in ire, pupil contracting into a slit as she tried to think of some way to get past her own nerves and write to her mother.

Their relationship had always been pretty convoluted. Tabby had never liked being shuttled around from ship to ship, and when she'd been old enough to mess with her genetics, she had done so, altering herself to be more like the feline she was nicknamed after. Naturally, that had not gone over well with her military mother, who had thrown her into boot in hopes of straightening her out. The joke had been on Tabby; though she was pissed off at her mother, she found she liked being in the military.

They had stopped talking for a while after that, until Elysium had come and gone. Tabby had made the first overture, and slowly they had started to repair their relationship. Very slowly.

She shook her head, shoving strands of brown-striped golden hair out of her face. Focusing on what was past wasn't going to get the letter written, and the more she waffled over it the less likely it was that she was going to actually write this.

So, with uncertainty in her stomach and hands that twitched slightly, she started to write.

–

Dear Mom;

Been a long time, hasn't it? Before you start telling me I suck at keeping in touch, I was dead. Really and truly dead. The Collectors blew up my ship, killed twenty of my crew and me. A former Alliance organization called Cerberus rebuilt me. I don't know much about them, to be honest, but what I do know, I don't like. They give me the creeps, to be perfectly frank.

But they have given me this shot to get back at the Collectors for blowing my ship to pieces. Revenge may not be the best motivation, but right now? It really works.

There was a reason to this, beyond me reassuring you that yes, I am alive now, I am still a Spectre, and both Anderson and Hackett have asked me to do under the table jobs for them. I went back to Alchera, Mom. Where the pieces of my ship ended up.

Have you ever... had a ship explode, Mom? You escape, but the pieces go raining down on some backwater planet you've never seen before, and eventually you're given the chance to go back? I haven't collected more than a couple of people for this suicide mission of theirs. (It involves the Omega-4 relay, any more than that I probably shouldn't tell you.)

I got the chance to go back, Mom. To find the remains of a place that was my home, and the home of my crew. God, I didn't think it would hurt me so much to see it. Just... pieces of my ship, scattered around and frozen in two years worth of accumulated snow and ice. Preserved, but definitely not pristine.

Admiral Hackett was the one who forwarded the coordinates. I was a little surprised to hear from him, and Captain—Ack, I mean Admiral!—Anderson both. Considering that I'm technically dead in the Alliance records and all.

I'm rambling. I think I got it from you; you've never liked to talk about the bad shit to anyone.

Alchera could be a pretty planet someday. Sorta like Noveria, only less corporate BS. The Normandy pieces would make a good tourist attraction, providing I win this crap and survive.

You'd laugh if you could see me, Mom. I'm crying like a little kid who lost her doll, only the ship was more important than a doll, and it's not something I can ever get back. The SR-2 just isn't the same ship. Joker likes the leather seats at least... But the loft I'm in isn't my old cabin, there's nothing here that's even remotely the same.

It hurts Mom. It hurts like hell to think I've lost two years with you, with... with everyone, and I don't even really get time to catch my breath.

Right. Alchera.

The ship was a wreck. Cut into pieces, and barely half of them landed on ground I was able to walk on. I have to find some twenty-odd dog tags too. Easier said than done. You know how hard it is to find silver tags under two years of white snow?

But that wasn't the worst bit. I know it's been two years, but I didn't live them. Everything... it feels like I was only on that ship this morning, with my tea and my data pad, ready to hunt down more geth. I look at the pieces and memory just attacks me. The Normandy in dock at the Citadel, the CIC an star map just waiting for me to pick a destination, Kaidan's station...

I don't know how the Mako managed to be in one piece though. I really don't. Stupid tank was apparently armored better than my whole ship put together. That pisses me off more than it probably should.

I picked up Pressly's data pad on the way out. My old N7 helmet too. How the hell that thing survived in one piece when I sure as hell didn't...

Mom, whatever Joker tried to tell you, my death wasn't his fault. You have to forgive him. If not for me hitting the bulkhead at just the wrong angle, I would've been fine. Well, mostly fine. I would've survived a little longer, I think. The explosion slammed my air tank and hoses into a sharp edge, and I suffocated before I burned up in atmo. It never was, and never has been, his fault.

There's a monument there now. God that was hard to place. I didn't know where I wanted it at first, but it did make sense to put it in front of the hull where the name was still emblazoned on the ship. Hackett told me that the dog tags brought closure to those families, and I'm glad it did.

But it sure as hell didn't do anything but make me feel like I'd ripped out my heart to bleed all over the pristine ground. And now, I'm kinda pissed that he did that to me. It's not like I didn't need another reason to want to kill the Collectors, hell, turnabout is damn fair play from where I'm sitting.

Guess I'd better wrap this up, I have to hit dirt on Omega again to find another one of my recruits, a guy called Zaeed Massani. I'll try and send you another email soon, if I can.

I... I never said it very much when we were still trying to rebuild things but... thanks Mom. And... yeah. I love you.

Sincerely, your daughter

Tabby


End file.
